More than a Fairy Tale
by King Caspian the Seafarer
Summary: Is Aslan really more than just a fairy tale? Bookbased in Prince Caspian, from the POV of Caspian's Nurse as she tells young Caspian a story.
1. Part 1

**More than a Fairy Tale**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia.**

**A/N: I'm not sure really where this fic came from. It takes place in Prince Caspian, this chapter before the events of Prince Caspian.**

**It is told from the point of view of Caspian's nurse, who was mentioned in the book, but not in the movie. **

**Please review!**

_--Part 1--_

I sat in the nursery, knitting distractedly, a smile crossing my face as I watched Prince Caspian as he played. In his small, but slender hands, he grasped a wooden practice sword, rather too big for him. He danced lightly back and forth, skewering pretended enemies one by one. His footwork, his uncle had admitted grudgingly, was moderately good—for an eight year old.

"I will fight you, Witch!" he shouted, a fierce glare darkening his sea blue eyes and turning them almost grey. He swung his wooden sword at his imaginary foe, but then paused in the middle of the blow and turned to me.

"Nursie," he began, his brow furrowed in deep thought, "did Peter the High King kill the White Witch? Or was it King Edmund?"

I laughed and put down my knitting needles, shaking my head at the question.

"It wasn't Peter the High King, Caspian, or even King Edmund the Just. It was someone far more powerful than both of them, more powerful than any King of Narnia."

Caspian frowned as he tried to work out what I meant; finally, he shook his head.

"I don't remember, Nursie. You only told that story once; a long time ago."

I sighed with a smile and beckoned for him to come closer. The young Prince sheathed his sword in the belt that he wore and stepped across to me.

"I think you do know, my Prince," I remarked, smiling gently. "Think hard."

"Tell it again. Please? You haven't told me a story in ages."

He widened his eyes and gave me such a plaintive look that I laughed and threw my hands in the air.

"Very well, your highness," I replied. "Come closer."

Caspian grinned, sitting down next to me on the sofa instantly. His 'sword', which he had received from his Uncle the previous week, made it hard to sit. Without hesitation, he jerked the sword free of his belt and threw it on the ground.

"Tell the story, Nursie," he begged, smiling sweetly.

With a sigh, I stroked his golden locks absently. I cleared my throat and began the story.

"Once there was a White Witch who ruled over Narnia for a hundred years. While she was Queen, the land of Narnia was bound in snow and ice."

"But no Christmas," Caspian pointed out, the small fact having been lodged firmly in his memory at the thought of going without any presents for 100 years. "Not even presents you don't like."

I felt a pang of sorrow for the child beside me. King Miraz and Queen Prunaprismia cared little, if not at all about my young charge. They knew almost nothing about him, and they showed no interest in altering that.

True, the King would take his nephew on walks several times a week, but Caspian usually returned from his walks with a miserable, troubled look clouding his eyes. It was almost as if he knew that Miraz didn't care for him.

So it was that on nearly all of the Christmases that young Prince Caspian usually received disappointing gifts. Not that he cared. It saddened me when I realized that he was used to getting everything he _didn't_ want.

True, he had been happy when he received his first pony, Nack, and even happier when he was given his first 'real horse' as he called Rigel; but all of the practice swords and sweets and toys given him by his aunt and uncle merely gathered dust in corners. Eight-year-olds soon tire of toys that would better suit a five-year-old. Especially such an intelligent lad as the Prince.

But every Christmas tide since I had first taken Caspian as my charge, we had shared a secret. Each Christmas Eve, the night before the great day arrived, the dear Prince and I would celebrate the coming of Christmas in the Nursery together.

I believe that those secret celebrations were really his favorite part of the winter season, for alone in the dark Nursery, with only two candles and good stories to tell, we would exchange gifts. And of course, spending every day and hour with the lad, I knew exactly what Caspian loved. And his gifts, however crude and homely, were made, I knew, with love. And that made them more precious to me than the most costly jewel in all of Narnia.

"Nursie, tell the story," Caspian begged, pulling at my sleeve. "You've only just started and you promised you'd tell it."

I smiled down at the Prince and stroked his hair again. It was so soft. So like his mother, Elenor's. His eyes, though blue as the sea, had the firm determination of his father, I noticed as I often had before.

"But one day, four children came into Narnia from a place called Spare Oom, or so the legend says. There were two boys and two girls. One of the boys betrayed the others and joined the Witch's side."

"Edmund," Caspian murmured softly. He had always been fascinated by Edmund; the traitor. I often wondered if he had guessed the truth behind his parent's deaths. If he had, it would definitely explain this strange curiosity.

"That's right. Edmund betrayed his brother, Peter, and his sisters, Susan and Lucy. He went to the Witch's castle, but she turned against him and ordered him to be killed."

Caspian's eyes grew large, as they always did when he heard the word 'death' or 'kill'. It had to do with his parent's death, I was sure.

"What happened next?" he asked.

"Peter, Susan, and Lucy met two beavers. The beavers took them to the Hill of the Stone Table to meet—"

"To meet Aslan," Caspian interrupted, the awe in his voice shaking me as it always did when he said the name of the Great Lion. "I think I do remember this story. A little. But please, do go on."

"That's right; the beavers took the Pevensies to meet Aslan, the Great Lion, the Son of the Emperor-over-the-sea, the High King above all Kings in Narnia. On the way, the Pevensies met Father Christmas."

Caspian's eyes brightened at the mention of the Jolly Old Elf. He and I would pretend on Christmas Eve that we were waiting for Father Christmas. Once, we were certain that we heard the jingle of sleigh bells outside the window. But when we pulled back the curtains and looked out, nothing was there.

"Father Christmas gave presents to each of the children. Do you remember what they were?" I asked with a smile.

Caspian hardly hesitated before answering my question.

"He gave Lucy a dagger and a magic cordial that could cure any injury; he gave Peter a sword called Rhindon, and a shield; and he gave Susan a bow and arrows and a horn."

"That's right," I said, delighted that he remembered. "Then the beavers took them to the Hill of the Stone Table. The Pevensies met Aslan, and He told them that they would be Kings and Queens of Narnia."

"I wonder what it would be like to be the King," Caspian murmured, so softly that I hardly heard it.

"Do you want to be King?" I asked absently, my mind on the story.

Caspian hesitated, and then shook his head.

"No," he said decidedly. "Besides, Uncle Miraz is the King. He told me not to think about becoming King until he was dead."

I smiled halfheartedly, but my heart sank low. Miraz. The usurper who had murdered the young Prince's parents in cold blood while they slept. At least, he had killed the elder Caspian. Elenor had died of a broken heart.

"Then Edmund was rescued from the Witch's Camp," I continued, hoping to draw my young charge's mind off such things. "But the White Witch came to the Hill of the Stone Table, demanding the traitor back."

Caspian's eyes grew large again. It was rather amusing, really; to watch the way his eyes grew large, and then narrowed as things changed in the story.

"He…Aslan didn't…"

"No, my Prince," I replied seriously. "Instead of returning Edmund to the Witch so that she could kill the boy, Aslan allowed the Witch to kill Him on the Stone Table."

Tears filled Caspian's eyes. I felt a pang of joy and pain in my heart at once. He was so tenderhearted—why was Miraz continually trying to make a hardhearted warrior out of him? Caspian was just a child. Just a sweet, innocent child caught in the midst of a tangled web of traitors and murderers.

"Why did He have to die?"

I looked down at the child beside me, and noticed with a start that he was beginning to cry in earnest.

"Oh Caspian," I soothed, stroking his back comfortingly. "Don't cry. That's not the end of the story."

"But _why_ did _He_ have to die?"

I bit my lip and shook my head.

"It's part of the Deep Magic, Caspian. When a willing victim is killed instead of a traitor, Death itself turns backward. After they killed Aslan, the Stone Table cracked. Susan and Lucy were there. They saw that Aslan was dead, but when the Table cracked, Aslan disappeared."

Caspian's sobs stopped abruptly. He turned his face up to me, his eyes wide with excitement and hope.

"What…what happened?" he asked breathlessly.

I leaned close and ran a hand through his hair.

"Aslan came back to life. Death turned backwards, and Aslan rose from the dead!"

Caspian's eyes grew even wider, and then a grin spread slowly across his face.

"He died, and then He came back to life," I murmured.

Caspian nodded solemnly. Then he gave me another quick glance.

"You don't need to finish the story. I remember what happened. Aslan killed the Witch, and he made Peter the High King, and Susan a Queen, and He crowned King Edmund and Queen Lucy too. That was the Golden Age."

I nodded in satisfaction. At least he had remembered some of what I had told him.

"Nursie…" the Prince turned a questioning look up at me.

"If…if I died in a traitor's stead, would I come back to life, if I hadn't done anything wrong?"

I let out a little gasp at the question. Caspian always managed to think of the strangest most bewildering things. But before I had time to answer, the door swung open. In stepped King Miraz, cutting a dark, imposing figure as he entered the room. Caspian and I both jumped to our feet, as was customary when the King appeared. His attendants stood behind him, both young squires of the castle.

Miraz crossed the room and stopped just in front of Caspian. The Prince looked so small, so frail in front of his huge uncle, dark and menacing as he stood over the boy.

"Nephew," he remarked in greeting, though the word was cold and could have been a greeting to a dog one didn't like for all the emotion it conveyed.

Miraz glanced down and detected the practice sword on the floor of the Nursery.

"Eh? What's this? I told you to carry your sword with you at all times. To practice for later, boy, when you're old enough to carry a real sword."

He picked it up and handed it to Caspian with a frown.

"What were you doing without it, eh?"

The Prince took the sword meekly and 'sheathed' it in his belt.

"Nurse was telling me a story."

I noted how he called me just plain 'Nurse' in front of his uncle and everyone else; though when we were alone, he usually addressed me as 'Nursie', an old nickname that had stuck. It was all the better, for I knew Miraz frowned on his nephew acting childishly, and he would doubtlessly believe that a pet name like 'Nursie' was childish.

"You like your Nurse's stories better than you do playing with your sword, boy?" Miraz asked sharply, giving me an icy look.

Caspian glanced up at me, and I blinked twice, our special signal that he should give the vague reply we had prepared.

"Nurse's stories have their place," he said, as I had taught him. "I was tired of fighting the Witch. She's hard to beat."

Miraz frowned at this comment, and I winced inwardly_._

_Of course_, I thought, wanting to kick myself for this mistake_. I should have warned Caspian about the Old Stories. Now we're in for it._

But contrary to my fear, Miraz did not blow into a great temper and get angry. He merely nodded to Caspian, and then at the door.

"Come along, your highness," he said, his tone rather bored, as if he would rather not go on a walk with his nephew this day. "The sooner we're off, the sooner we're back."

"I'll be right out, Uncle," Caspian replied, bowing as Miraz stepped outside the Nursery.

When the door closed, he turned to me and gave me a hug.

"Thank you, Nursie. I love your stories. Will you tell me another one later?"

"Of course, my Prince," I replied with a soft smile. "But these aren't just stories."

Caspian's brow furrowed in bewilderment.

"What do you mean?"

"These aren't just stories," I told him again. "They're real. Especially Aslan."

"The stories are real?" asked the Prince, eyes growing wide again.

I nodded solemnly. The door cracked open again, and I could tell that Miraz was getting impatient outside. Suddenly, I felt a strange tightness in my throat that I could not explain; a sudden sadness. I knelt down and enfolded Caspian in a warm embrace.

"Whatever happens, Caspian," I murmured, "remember these two things: that I love you; and the more important: that Aslan is more than a Fairy Tale. Never forget those two things."

Caspian pulled back and met my gaze, his eyes determined and calm as a smooth sea.

"I won't, Nursie," he replied sincerely. "And I already knew that Aslan was more than a Fairy Tale."

"You did? But how?"

I couldn't disguise the shock in my voice. Caspian nodded with an excited smile.

"Because Nursie," he replied, the childlike innocence in his voice piercing my heart and bringing tears of joy to my eyes, "nothing as good as Aslan can be just a Fairy Tale."

And with these words, so swiftly spoken, yet so long lasting, Caspian turned and ran to the door. He hesitated before leaving, and I blew him a kiss.

"More than a Fairy Tale," I whispered. "Remember."

Caspian nodded, and then flung the door open.

--

I didn't know it then, but it was the last time I would see him until much had passed, for scarcely an hour later, Miraz's soldiers came to throw me out of the castle. I was not even allowed to say goodbye.

"Why Aslan?" I would shout to the silent stars above on many nights, wondering how He could abandon such an innocent child into the hands of a murderer. "Do you hear my pleas? Are you there?"

But then the voice, as soft and calm as the sea breeze would come floating back on the wings of the past.

"Nothing as good as Aslan can be just a Fairy Tale."

_**Please continue to Chapter 2**_


	2. Part 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia.**

**A/N: This is the second chapter of More than a Fairy Tale. It takes place at the end of Prince Caspian. If you've read the book, than you should remember this scene. I've simply rewritten it from the Nurse's point of view. Please review!**

--_Part 2--_

It was the day that I finally met Aslan face to face that I truly knew that He was more than a Fairy Tale. It had been seven years…seven long years since I had been cast out of the castle. I had no family, and eventually, having to work for my bread, I had become so tired and ill that I was at death's door.

All the village children adored me. They loved the stories that I would tell them on occasion, though the stories brought to my mind the memory of another child who had loved to listen to them, and I couldn't help but see his slim, childish figure beside the others, his eyes wide with wonder and excitement.

One day while I was telling the village children a story, a lad on a horse rode into the town. He dismounted and ran toward me, out of breath, with a look of urgency in his face.

"Queen Prunaprismia has bourn the King a son!" he panted, stumbling forward.

My blood turned to ice. Miraz had a son. He would not need the true heir to the throne anymore. Perhaps Caspian had already been vilely murdered by the usurper.

"What of the Prince?" I asked, knowing that my face had gone pale.

The boy must have seen the urgency in my face, for he shook his head and replied:

"He has escaped."

I fainted. The sudden shock and the horrible burden of my years were becoming too much for me. I fell suddenly ill with a terrible fever, and could neither sleep deeply nor eat. My dreams were fevered and restless, and I had no peace those dreary weeks.

So it was that I lay in bed on the last day, preparing to meet my Creator. I knew I was dying, but I wasn't afraid. I knew that I would soon see Aslan in His Country. The village children wept outside, standing guard over me in my last hour.

I closed my eyes and rested. In all my life, I had only one regret.

_If only I could have seen Caspian…one last time…_

Suddenly, there came a crash. I felt the heat of the sun, and the fresh, summer air all around me. I opened my eyes, and somehow, I wasn't frightened or astonished by the Great Lion that stood before me. I had been expecting Him. I think I would have been disappointed if He had not come. But even so, a great excitement swelled in my heart, for now, at least, I had seen Him.

"Aslan," I murmured, gazing into his eyes with the wonder that I had seen in Caspian's eyes so long ago. "I knew it was you. I've been waiting for this moment all my life."

It was true. I had hoped and dreamed and prayed that He would be more than just a Fairy Tale. I had believed that He was, but believing in something you have not seen and believing in something you have seen are two different things altogether. Now I was there; with His warm glory all around me. We were in the bright Narnian sun. The shack my bed had lain in was now gone, I knew not where.

"Have you come to take me away?" I asked, aware that my voice was low and hoarse.

Aslan shook His mane, and I could actually feel the glory and power radiating from him.

"Yes, dear one," came His golden voice, strong and large, like thunder, but calm. "But not the long journey yet."

A boy, wild and beautiful, with hair as black as pebbles in a stream handed me a cup.

_Bacchus_, I thought, remembering the Old Tales about the wild boy.

The cup was more like a goblet than a cup; it was gold, and had little purple jewels studded in it. I drank it. The most wonderful taste I have ever imagined spread through my mouth and tingled all the way down in my toes.

"This isn't water from our well," I murmured, glancing down at the water in the cup. "But it is delicious, whatever it is."

Minutes later, I climbed on the great golden back of Aslan. With a roar, he leapt forward, and we sped along through the woods. In the crowd of creatures and people behind us, I noticed two girls apart from the wild Maenads that followed Bacchus; one with raven black hair, and the other with hair like spun gold.

_Could that be Queen Susan and Queen Lucy?_ I wondered in astonishment. _They have been called back from the Far Past? _

I asked no questions as I rode along on Aslan's back. It was warm that day, and the summer air blew in my face, refreshing me delightfully. All throughout the ride, I could feel my strength returning.

Finally, we arrived at Beruna. The entire Telmarine army stood together in a tight, miserable circle, guarded by Narnians that seemed to be straight out of the Old Stories. My heart leapt as I counted the numerous dwarves, Fauns, Dryads, and Talking Beasts that stood, panting and trembling, around the enemy.

But what caught my eye at last was a tall, handsome youth with hair the color of gold. He was lean but strong, and in his slender hands he grasped a sword. By his side hung a horn that shone like silver in the midday sun.

It was only when we drew closer that I saw the flash of sea blue eyes that I had longed to see one last time.

"Caspian!"

I slid off Aslan's back and ran to the Prince. He turned toward me, a startled look on his face. When he caught sight of me running toward him, he looked confused; then comprehension dawned, and a look of pure ecstasy and joy filled his eyes.

"Nurse!"

We embraced. Tears sprang to my eyes as I held this young man who had once been my charge.

"How much you've grown," I remarked suddenly, pulling back and looking him up and down.

He looked so much older; as if he'd faced great things and been victorious. But there was still the look of a child about my Prince, something I could not put a finger on. A bruise was darkening on one cheek, and his lip was bleeding. There was a small cut beside one of his eyebrows, across his temple.

But his eyes were the same. Trusting, innocent, and honest; Caspian had not changed in this respect.

"Miraz?" I asked breathlessly, taking in the bodies that were scattered around on the shore of the river, and glancing at the captured Telmarine soldiers.

A flicker of pain flashed through Caspian's eyes, and he grimaced.

"He is dead."

I put a consoling hand on his shoulder. Even though his uncle had tried several times to kill him, I knew that another death of one so close was hard on the boy.

"Did you kill him?"

Somehow, I almost wanted the answer to be yes. I wanted him to raise his eyes and show me that they were filled with hate and justified vengeance. I wanted him to affirm my question with that one word filled with savage joy.

Instead, Caspian raised his eyes, and they were filled with pain and sorrow, and even tears.

That amazed me. I would not have been surprised to have seen the bitter hate in his eyes at the mention of his uncle; or even the savage joy that I had almost hoped to see. I would not have been astonished to see them fill with satisfaction, or even a solemn look. But this…this completely overwhelmed me.

Tears. He was truly sorry for his uncle's death.

"No. Lord Sopespian killed him. I don't know how I'm ever going to tell my aunt."

The quiet sadness in his voice affirmed that he was truly sorry. I didn't understand. I was almost angry at Caspian for not hating Miraz.

_He has every right to hate his uncle_, I thought furiously._ He should hate his uncle. Miraz tried to kill him!_

"Why are you troubled about his death?" I wondered bitterly. "He wanted you dead, you know. Don't you hate him?"

Caspian nodded slowly.

"Yes, I suppose I should hate him," he finally said, biting his lip. "I used to, I know. But now I don't. Maybe it's because I forgave him for hating me. And mostly, I feel sorry for him."

Now it was my eyes that grew wide at his words.

"Sorry? For a traitor...a murderer like Miraz?"

"Yes."

Caspian's gaze was thoughtful as he glanced at the huge Lion that was now walking toward us beside a young man that I assumed was Peter the High King.

"I'm sorry for my uncle, because he thought Aslan was no more than a Fairy Tale. And to me, that is worse than a thousand deaths."

_Finis._


End file.
